


(you've almost convinced me i'm real)

by nolightss



Series: strict machine [1]
Category: Rush (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Cyberpunk, Futuristic, M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nolightss/pseuds/nolightss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Race after race, Niki still doesn’t know what to think of himself.</p><p>There are cities of people, cities of robots and cities of neither but he still doesn’t know where to put himself, where to put someone who belongs in neither.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you've almost convinced me i'm real)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea rattling around for awhile. This is also my first fic so please be nice, thank you. Enjoy~
> 
> Title from Touch by Daft Punk.
> 
> EDIT: I've written a little companion piece [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1670831) if you're looking for more.

The year is 2076.

The dust is swirling through the underbelly of the city, clouding the fluorescent lights as it settles across the grid. Niki spits and grinds his boot into the spot, grimacing at the clouds of dirt erupting at the contact. The conditions are less than ideal, and the vote, swung so far from his favor, didn’t do anything to calm his nerves. 

Niki slides tinted goggles down over his eyes before sliding into his pod, revving the engine with practiced ease. The synthetic whine joins the chorus of machinery in the street, and an electric charge seems to resonate in the air, hitting Niki to his core and shivering through his fingertips. 

More dust clouds the air.

The lights, barely visible, count down ahead of him, reflecting just slightly on the wing of James’ pod, a reminder.

The green light drops.

The electricity in the air jumps.

 

The year is 2066

17 years.

17 years, he thought he was human. 17 years and he thought he was under his own control the whole time, thought that his emotions were his own, thought that the littlest touch still meant something because he was the one feeling it. All those things he took for granted. 

He buries himself in work, in pods and racing because what else is there? 

At least he can still drive.

 

The year is 2072

Race after race, Niki still doesn’t know what to think of himself.

There are cities of people, cities of robots and cities of neither but he still doesn’t know where to put himself, where to put someone who belongs in neither. 

Niki pushes it, and it pushes back. There’s at least one person in each city who will work on him when he needs it. Who has the parts where he doesn’t. At least there’s that.

 

The year is 2073

There’s a man across the track, with a pointed face and a serious expression, a screwdriver in one hand, the end stuck inside his own arm, bits of metal clearly visible under artificial skin. 

James finds himself next to the man, finds himself in a conversation mostly comprised of colorful insults, but it’s a conversation nonetheless, and while the man doesn’t seem pleased by his presence, at least he doesn’t seem entirely displeased by it either.

 

The year is 2074

His lips are pink against Niki’s, golden hair tumbling around his chin and framing it, tickling against Niki’s neck when he gets too close. 

He debates telling James, but he doesn’t know what he’d say. He kisses him instead, forceful and purposefully, as if to bury that feeling in the back of his head that’s telling him, what if these aren’t your feelings at all?

 

The year is 2075

James’s hands are wrung through Niki’s hair, letting the curls twist through his fingertips and wondering briefly if anyone else has done this. Niki pulls away, looking exhausted, looking tired and finished. James asks.

“I’m not real,” Niki replies, voice wavering only slightly on the last syllable. 

“What on earth do you mean?” 

“I mean, I’m not real. Not human. Not,” he gestures vaguely to James, “Not like you.”

And then, as if to make his point, he picks at the skin on his hand, pulling it back to reveal a brilliant silver metal. 

James sighs. 

He lifts Niki’s hand to his lips, and kisses the spot of metal, gently and calmly, only slightly aware of Niki’s startled face.

“You are real, love.” He says softly, pulling Niki’s head to rest on his shoulder.  
“So very, very real.”

 

The year is 2076

Niki can count 14 tiles on the ceiling above him, along with 2 vents and 4 battered fire sprinklers.

He can count 5 spots on his arms without skin to cover them, 7 across his chest, and he can feel some on his face too, though the number is unclear.

The technician says, “You’ll be alright, it’ll just be a little tougher blending in now.”

Niki doesn’t say anything back.

He hopes he’ll blend in okay.

 

The year is 2076

Theres a radio on in the other room almost always.

He can hear the races as they happen, he can hear James winning.

He misses it.

 

The year is 2076

There are precisely 5 spots on his face without skin. Just polished metal, buffed and glimmering in the Italian sunlight.

Niki doesn’t like them.

James does.

Niki isn’t surprised

 

The year is 2076

James has won.

Niki is on his way back home by that point. He misses the celebrations. Champagne is bad for the joints, the technician told him. He figured.

 

The year is 2077

James misses Niki.

He doesn’t know if he wants to keep racing those battered pods through the dirty cities, but he knows he still wants to feel Niki’s lips on his, to feel Niki’s hair balled in his fists and Niki’s hands on his body.

He wants to make Niki feel real.

 

The year is 2093

Niki picks up the phone and hears the news.

He doesn’t cry, but he does feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s lost a little of his humanity.


End file.
